Tidal Flow
by RandomHatTheif
Summary: Tides, much like emotions, ebb and flood. What is Lovino supposed to do when Alfred shows up at his door with a- a FISH TAIL? What black magic is this? Romerica. SouthItalyxAmerica. Rated for Lovi's mouth.
1. Chapter 1: Contrast

**Chapter One: C**o**n**t**r**a**s**t

Contrast is something South Italy knows all about. There's contrast in art; between colors, shades, and hues. There's contrast between himself and his fratello; their appearance, personality, and culture. And there is contrast surrounding him now as he sits on this dock. It's old and the wood is soft and probably going to give under his weight any moment, but it matches the calm here. The gulls crowd around boats and tourists for miles in either direction, but this place -torn to pieces in the last storm and simply left- was run down and deserted. It was a... Romano didn't want to say _nice _because the whole dock swayed with the tide and the tap of an old wooden boat -how was it still floating?- could be felt vibrating through the framework of Romano's perch, but it was a decent escape from the chaos of his home to say the least.

To say that anyone in their right mind could get _used _to that potato bastard berating Feliciano for a mistake, to Feliciano clinging to that same bastard and sobbing out apologies, to Antonio showing up at the door with Francis and Gilbert tagging along like mangy rabid puppies, and then going on about vegetables(or fruits), bunnies, and adorable children while Gilbert raids the fridge and Francis gropes at the parts of Romano's body only exposed to the shower and his bedsheets is absurd. To think one could become _accustomed _in insanity is... well, it's stupid.

Romano Vargas is a lot of things, but stupid is not one of them.

Said Italian reset his jaw from irritation to exhaustion. He dug the heels of his palms into his eye sockets and gave up on his posture. Lately Feliciano had been conveniently missing when it came time to do the paperwork and it'll be a cold day in _Hell_ then Romano let his brother's idiocy drag him down, so he'd stayed up late for several nights and finally gotten most of it done -there were still a few applications to look through waiting for him back in their office. He slid his fingers down over his mouth and stifled the yawn in his throat.

His ungrateful fratello hadn't even cooked him anything for dinner while he was working, he hadn't bothered to leave a bottle of wine for him when he _finally _finished, nor had he bothered to say when he would be home from the potato bastard's house. No. Feliciano had just up and left. Again.

He let his breath out and supported himself with his elbows digging into his thighs. A frown crept itself over his lips and he attempted to keep that itching feeling of abandonment from migrating into his mind. It could stay in that cold ball in the pit of his stomach where it fucking belongs. He let out another frustrated breath he was consciously holding.

"Oi, Lovino, you okay?" His hair smacked him in the face at the force he whipped his head around beside him. The voice calling him was familiar, English spoken from a cracking throat through what he knew would be a warm, crooked smile. He rarely saw the American outside of meetings anymore, since they'd started the 21st century. What the Hell was he doing here? Actually, in Italy at all?

"Why are you here Bastar-," He blinked behind him at the empty dock, "Where the fuck did you go?"

"Nowhere." Alfred popped out of the water and clung to the wood beside Romano's leg for a moment, then seemed to readjust his legs and prop himself by his upper arms. Was that supposed to be a cool pose? Because it certainly wasn't impressing _this _Italian.

"What the fuck are you doing in Italy?" He raised an eyebrow when Alfred began to pick at the wood by his elbow, pinching it off and crumbling it before he answered.

"I thought it'd be a nice change, after that cold spell I had this Winter I figured some uh... warmer waters would do me good." He returned to clinging to the dock as his legs overbalanced and he began to slip off and under the boards.

"Then what are you doing in the water? How did you get here? Why aren't you bothering Veneziano?" At this point it was beginning to grate on his nerves that Alfred wasn't being straight with him about why he was there. He leaned over the side of the dock to glimpse more of the American, and raised an eyebrow when said blonde flailed and tucked his legs out of sight.

"Okay, okay. Stop prying and I'll tell you." Was it just a trick of his paranoia, or did the bastard look nervous?

"Tell me what, Idiota?"

"I'm hiding from Arthur." He stared at Romano, then relaxed and let himself float back into view a ways, the initial sight sent the brunette into a fit for the American's health. There was a motherfucking _barb _shanked into Alfred's _back_!

"Ma che _diavolo_? Why the _fuck_ are you moving with that in your _back_!" He scrambled to his knees to get a better look, only to have one of Alfred's hands wrap around his wrist and the other catch his chin and force him to look down at the blonde's face. Now, there's no denying that this particular American took all the positive physical attributes of the culture; he had tanned skin, broad shoulders, bright blue eyes that could very well rival the shade of a clear sky, springy dirty blonde hair, and freckles dusted over his nose and shoulders. Romano felt his ears getting hot and he glared daggers at this man he couldn't help but find the slightest bit attractive. "What the _Hell-_"

"Shaddup for a second and let me finish." He raised his eyebrows for Romano to respond. Roma kept his tongue, but jerked his face out of the touch and narrowed his eyes. Alfred went on, "Artie got on one of his nostalgia trips and decided to try to figure out one of the 'Mysteries of the Sea' he never straightened out when he was a Cap'n." Alfred smiled at the faked accent for a second, but Romano only rolled his hazel eyes at the poor excuse for a joke. "Anyway, he turned me into a merman and now he wants to poke at me and make me cry for some reason." At this Alfred scratched at his neck and excused himself to dip back under the water's surface. Romano, on the other hand -whom was about to punch the bastard in the face for lying to him, and thinking he would be stupid enough to believe this bullshit- found himself crawling to the side of the dock, staring when Alfred came back up.

The skin on his _neck _was _moving._

"You-you're not kidding..." At that, Alfred snorted and raised himself back out to prop on the dock again.

"Of course not." Romano hovered to the side, moving his gaze from watching the gills settle back into his flesh to staring down Alfred's back where those barbs were_ attached _to his person. They rose from the water and the skin shifted down to reveal a cylindrical white needle that glinted in the sun with what Romano could only guess was something that would _not_ agree with his immune system if he got stuck with one.

"Athur's an ass, growing these gills almost killed me." Alfred glared into the distance then turned a cocky smile to Romano's face, stuck between horror and awe. He tugged at the unfamiliar muscles that should have been his legs and rose his fluke out of the water. Romano watched the motion, struck by two things. One, the pattern across the nearly transparent skin -it was skin there, right?- was an ornate compilation of golden orange bands running perpendicular to the cartilage that frayed the membrane, with black spots -maybe they were freckles?- over the surface, and it was gorgeous. Two, wasn't that tail supposed to 'shimmer through the waves'? Romano turned to Alfred's face with a glower.

"Oi. Why aren't your scales all shiny and shit?" Alfred puffed out his cheeks and lifted his tail out closer to the Italian, allowing him to lean down and note that Alfred was in fact, _not _covered in scales.

"I'm too ferocious for s_cales_, thank you very much Lovi." He plopped back over in the water with an awkwardness that amused Lovino. Then the spines were raised off their place against his lower back and the smile was wiped off Lovi's face.

"Whatever Bastard. What the fuck kind of fish are you supposed to be anyway?" He eyed the spines with a new eye, this time noticing that they were riddled with stripes too, but lacking in those dark freckles. Instead, they had a dark golden undertone and white rings, with burgundy rings inside those. The ridge along the back of his tail was darker, sorta reddish, and covering a complex network of white stripes lined up like a zebras. Alfred snorted, a crooked smirk over his lips and a smug glint in blue eyes that seemed to have darkened since the last time Lovino looked at them.

"What?" He snapped at the man... er, merman.

"See something you like, Lovi?" Lovino turned a nice shade of red, slapped Alfred a good one across the side of his head, and glared into eyes that were typically shrouded behind glasses. It shouldn't surprise him that they weren't there, but Alfred looked different. The glasses -despite what novels might make you think- made him look a little childish. Impish, at least. Without them, you can see the way his irises change when he lowers his brows, that they get darker instead of just thinking of that same old blue when the glare from the window changes the hue too much through the curved glass. Alfred snickered and flitted his tail around a little. He might not have even done it consciously, but it's was like he was wagging it.

"Shut up Bastard!" He had seen fish wiggle when they were excited. Alfred was definitely prone to wiggling as a human, Lovino was sure he would wiggle as a fish.

Alfred let go off the dock and sunk in up to his chin, grinning like a dope. "Anyway, I think I'm a Lionfish. How kickass is that?" He held his fingers out of the water, poised like claws and growled at his Italian company. Said comany rolled his eyes.

"_Idiota_."

"Come swimming with me, Lovi!" Alfred jolted out of the water and propped himself on his palms to he'd be face-to-face with the brunette. It worked, and Romano flushed again, held back from another smack only because Alfred's weight had shifted the rotten wood keeping him dry, it creaked and groaned and anymore jostling and it was likely to give.

"Why the fuck would I do that, idiot? You'd swim off and leave me, or drag me down and kill me, or shank me in the heart with one of those stupid spines of yours like that guy from Australia!" Alfred let his head drop and Lovino went on and on about all the ways he could resurface doing the deadman's float, or not resurface at all. He sunk back down into the waters with a sigh and thumped his forehead on the planks.

"I'll be careful, fin-laden or not I'm still a hero and I won't let you die." He frowned at the Italian, but to no avail, Lovino was rather used to puppy eyes by now, even from him. He sighed.

"Or what if I get stuck in the seaweed? Or inhale? Or-"

"Lovino~?"

"What do you want?" He snapped his head around to watch Alfred flicker his tail under the surface.

"I'll let you touch my tail. It feels cooooool." The look on the face of his query as he deliberately swished his tail in and out of view was enough to earn him the right to grin. Lovi was caught, hook, line, and sinker.

"Fine, but not today." He gestured to the sun low in the sky by now, "It's getting late." He stood to his feet and watch as Alfred followed him to the beach with a crease on his forehead. He paused before the edge and raised an eyebrow. Alfred caught the gesture and forced a crinkled smile on his lips.

"Nothin', I'm just a little worried about getting speared tonight. Arthur should wait a few days to check here." He picked at the wood of the dock again, refusing to look at anything but Lovino's shoes.

"What? Why?"

"Don't you think he'll hesitate to bother with the Spanish armada, even for his runaway experiment?" That was true. Romano could remember the battles he'd watched between them, knowing there was an English colony watching the same swings and thrusting of swords that he was on the other side. Antonio and Arthur still had some, _bad blood _in the water from those days.

He stared down at the blonde for a while, not saying anything just observing the play out of his thoughts on his face. Alfred was very easy to read half the time, impossible the other half. Now, you could see the fear of death(and England), replaced by bravery and plotting a plan of action, then back to the fear, and into something else that glazed those cobalt eyes, then back to fear. Romano scuffed his foot to snap Alfred out of it.

It was his turn to stare at his shoes.

"I'll, uh... I'll put a blockade or something on this section, only for 50 miles though. Stay away from the boats and wait for me on the shore. I'll be back tomorrow after work."

Alfred sent him a glittering smile and he stormed back towards his house, feeling damn sure that butterflies were insects spawned from Hellfire, bent on melting his organs, torching them, and spreading his ashes on those godawful potato wedges.

Ugh.


	2. Chapter 2: I don't care

**Chapter Two: I don't care**

"Dio mio, why am I doing this?" Lovino stood ankle deep in the waters of the Mediterranean Sea, his arms crossed over a bare chest and his eyes watching as Alfred, newly turned mermaid man, flip circles in the deeper water. He got as close to shore as he could without getting stuck again -the first time he had was hilarious, watching him flop and sputter until he finally, with no grace involved, turned on his side and rolled back into the sea. Lovino had laughed loudly until Alfred threw a rock at him.

"Hurry up, Lovi." He watched with a growing sensation of anxiety as Alfred reached for him, clasping his hands in the air and pouting. Were those 'grabby hands'? He ran a hand through his hair one more time, tossed his towel on the dock and took a few steps forward. Thankfully, the blonde paddled backwards as the seawater rose over Lovino's thighs and seeped into his trunks. The water was hot here, not even comfortable, just hot. The water temperature was the only reason Lovino walked faster into the water, not because he was excited about this. No way. Alfred was annoying and if he wasn't a superpower he would have already been turned over to England.

Alfred swam up as soon as the water passed Lovino's chest with a smile plastered from one ear to the other. Okay, so maybe Lovino wouldn't have turned him over to England. That was cruel. He turned red at the proximity and shoved Alfred's chest. Had he always been so buff? Wasn't he supposed to be _fat_? If he was, why the _Hell_ would you hide a chest like that in baggy clothes? A frown crossed the American's features, features Lovino had spent all night being pestered by, in his conscious mind or in his dreams. That is to say, the aquatic prick only showed up there because he was such a pillar of stress.

He had walked back home last night worri- no, not worried, more like dreading the paranoid ideas about coming back today and finding nothing, then turning on the TV and seeing him in an aquarium or worse, butchered on a fishing boat. He'd thrown a fit about that blockade for a good hour before he was satisfied that Alfred would survive the night. He couldn't have himself and Fratello blamed for the fall of America, could he? Then he'd fallen asleep wondering if Alfred could swim him to the seabed -of course Lovino would _never _let that happen because the idiot would probably go and do something stupid like forgetting he couldn't breathe underwater and drown him- but it was perfectly fine to imagine, right?

Lovino hadn't woken up early and fussed over himself. He sure as _Hell _hadn't put detangler in his hair so he wouldn't look like a drowned rat sitting on the pier, nor had he decided on the black and white trunks because they made him look tan. Oh, and you can just forget about the possibility that he had paced his kitchen for hours trying to figure out a good time to show up. He hadn't thought about packing lunch. He hadn't wondered what Alfred had eaten for the past week.

Actually, Lovino glanced at him as he fumbled to try to move backwards without smacking the Italian with his tail, he hadn't even mentioned food yet. Was that bad? The bastard was _always _hungry.

"Oi, Bastard."

"Yeah?" Alfred decided to just tread for all he was worth. He sent Lovino a smile that wasn't really as confident as he'd have hoped for. Really? Wasn't he a fish now? He should know how the fuck to _swim_.

"When's the last time you ate anything?" Alfred's cheeks lit up and he dunked down under the water for a second, before coming up and coughing into his fist.

"Ah, actually, I didn't have much time to eat. I was in a hurry to get out of international waters."

"So you haven't?"

"I found a few oysters and seaweed. Kiku eats it, so it won't kill me, but _dude _it is _gross._" He crinkled his nose and Lovino narrowed his eyes at Alfred before smacking him in the forehead. "Ow! What was that for?"

"Why the fuck haven't you asked for food yet?" Alfred glared.

"_Because_ Lovi, I get sick just thinking about burgers now." He looked at his friend like a light blub should have come on by now. It hadn't. Lovino shrugged and glared over the horizon.

"So? That shit isn't really food anyway." Alfred glared at him, he glared right back.

"Hamburgers are delicious."

"I though you didn't want them anymore?"

"It's England's fault! He turned me into this." Alfred lifted his arms to brandish the thin speckled fins on his forearms. Lovino just rolled his eyes and walked forward, grabbing Alfred's wrist.

"Shut up, Alfredo, it can't be that bad." He ran his fingertips across the membrane while Alfred set himself into a sulk.

"You wouldn't like it if we turned you into a fish and you couldn't eat tomatoes anymore."

Lovino stopped, glared viciously at the blonde, and growled. "It will be a cold day in Hell before I give up tomatoes."

For some reason, Alfred's shoulders lifted and smile twitched at the side of his mouth. He grinned and tugged Lovino farther out.

"C'mon Lovi, you're still in the shallows. You can swim right?" After a smirk, he turned on a dime and dove under the surface. Lovino flushed and watched as Alfred's shoulders disappeared under the water. His spines rose into view and then slid under as well, leaving him staring as a golden tail slid itself out of view. He shook himself and dove clumsily -in comparison- after the American.

As soon as his eyes were open he was watching Alfred fade in and out of view, turning circles and being an idiot. It was interesting to watch, admittedly. The tail was a bit longer than he would have expected, much longer than his legs had been anyway. It all made him look a little off-balance, but the wide set of his shoulders could counter it fine if you didn't nit-pick over it. Which Lovino would have a hard time doing. He watched Alfred turn a flip and start swimming toward him, muscles rolling, spine twisting, and smiling like a kid in a candy store. His heart sped up and he panicked a little bit when he felt his chest tighten and his face warm up. Underwater, the rush of blood to his face made his eyes sting, and it wasn't long until he was kicking for the surface and gasping when he broke free of the water.

Alfred popped up right beside him, the waves created by his approach tittering Lovino and forcing his legs out from under him. He sputtered out insults and glared through red eyes, attempting to gesture wildly in that way angry Italians do, but only succeeding in sinking below the oxygen again. He flailed for the surface one more time before Alfred ignored that little voice that told him not to and wrapped his arms around Lovino's torso. There was protest, and kicking and yelling from both of them -him telling Romano to stop moving and Lovino cursing- and Lovi got a few good hammers in before he took the initiative and settled awkwardly into the hold. Alfred loosened his arms a bit and grinned.

"Let me go, bastard."

"I thought you could swim, Lovi." It was a teasing accusation, but one that lit Lovino's cheeks aflame. He could swim just fucking _fine_! With Feliciano or Antonio or even that Potato Bastard if his life depended on it, but being swam at by _a merman _with _venomous spines _and no reputation for being responsible, was not a calming thing. He dug his elbow roughly into Alfred's chest, just under his collarbones, so he could properly glare daggers at the American.

"I _can _swim, you bastard. Just not with you swimming _at _me like that!" He cuffed Alfred in the ear and watched him flinch, before smiling _again _and leaning his face on Lovino's hand. With a blush on his face, Lovino shoved Alfred roughly and took to treading water by himself.

"Aw, why'd you leave? I thought you'd like me swimming you around." With a few turns on his fin, Alfred was _right _ beside Lovino again and the flames started them back to bickering.

* * *

><p>If you were to ask, Lovino Vargas would swear up and down that when Alfred popped up beside him -again!- he did not yelp. There was no yelping, screaming, or squeaking. At most, it was a strangled noise of surprise. How else are you supposed to act when you're just up at the surface, enjoying the oxygen, when a stupidly attractive, idiotic American merman appears out of the deep beside you, yelling your name, no less?<p>

"Lovino!"

"Motherfuckdammit!" This is where the denied yelping happens, and some uncoordinated wiggling, "What the Hell do you want?"

Alfred grinned, thoroughly enjoying the sight of a surprised Italian, then -after he'd had his fun- twisted around so that one the one hand, he was finding it troublesome to keep his head up to talk, but on the other, his tail, about where his knee should have gone, was in full view. Lovino had now paused in his fuming, a scowl still present on his features, and was waiting for an explanation.

"You came swimming with me, and I'm a man of my word."

_Merman_, Lovino wanted to correct, after having corrected himself countless time today, but he held his tongue. The fucker had promised he could, that had been his entire basis of swimming today -risking his life in the fucking ocean, but... _hindsight is 20/20_. Is this reasonable? Is it even _sane_?

When has he ever bothered being judicious? He tried not to hesitate too long before he moved. Alfredo might think he was scared -like _Hell _Lovino Vargas was scared of an overgrown fish. His fingertips brushed the skin lightly at first, expecting to recoil from cold and slime, but those weren't variables.

_Slimy_, wasn't the right word, slick, yes, but not coated in anything besides the smoothness water gives anything. And apparently, the kid stayed about 98.6 despite the fins. That couldn't possibly be normal. Lovino glanced at the blue eyes peering at him through the water -which was fucking creepy.

Alfredo wasn't very normal anyway.

His fingers found their way down to... his ankles? Well, down to the fin where his feet should have been -the caudal fin, if he recalled right- and eliciting a giggle. He raised an eyebrow incredulously. Did he really just _giggle_?

"Sorry. Tickled." Alfred steeled himself again, readjusting the flipper and amusing himself by blowing bubbles in patterns -like a smoker delighting themselves with smoke rings. More important than that was the unintentional having his hand on some muscle as he moved. Lovino was... awed sounds too frilly and romantic, interested, is more fitting. Incredibly, artistically, _interested_ in that one area now.

Like when you find that one fabric you can't stop fidgeting with, that texture you run your hand across until it's absence leaves your skin tingling, or when you find that _one _spot on your body that you can't help but touch: the dip of a hip, the conjunction at an elbow, or the hollow of a trapeze muscle. He's hooked on mapping those dents, engraving them in his mind, but running his hands across it would make him look a fool. Lovino Vargas is no fool, so he left his hand there for only a few more seconds, staring down at the patterns on the silky surface that couldn't possibly belong to a human, then trailed his fingers away -so he wouldn't look embarrassed or anything, and shrugged.

"S'not the worst thing I've touched."

Alfred, whom had been occupying himself just fine underwater, noticed the absence of sensation, and lifted his head about the surface.

"What?"

"You heard me, Bastard."

A whine escaped his nose, "Did not."

* * *

><p>By the end of the day though, not much had changed. Alfred was still way too fucking happy and it still bothered Lovino. How could anyone be so jazzed when they were in another nation's waters, dependent entirely on that country to keep them safe from their demented brother? What if he never changed back? Lovino paused, tearing his eyes away from the America as he twisted around just under the surface, who was there to change him back at all? He rolled his eyes and relaxed into a slump. Why did he even care? Alfred could probably run his country from the ocean just fine. They had waterproof paper now...<p>

"POP goes the merman!" Alfred launched himself out of the water and attempted a flip in the air. It failed, and he ended up flailing like a fish out of water(no pun intended) with his his spines awkwardly jerking with the motion. Lovino, who had been drying off on the dock, laughed dryly at the resounding splash.

"Ha. It's what you get, Bastard."

He reached out to tug at Alfred's hair when he came to sulk beside his leg. He hauled himself awkwardly out of the water and went limp on the boards.

"Lovinoooo. It huuuurts."

"What does?"

"My back. Make it better."

"I'm not kissing those fucking barbs. If you think I am, you're out of your little mind." He jabbed Alfred in the side when he wiggled his tail. The dock was going to go any second, and he was already half dry. Al stopped moving and huffed aloud.

Instead, he propped on his elbows and leaned his upper weight into Lovino's shoulder.

"Ooooh. Gimme a massage or somethin'!"

"Why the Hell would I do that? You're not moi amico!" There was an immediate regret to those words. They were true, he barely knew this man that he was attached to. But they had a bit of a history. They both missed their mentors a lot when the New World -Alfred, really- was being discovered, and then there were the 1920s. Not the best time in history.

_Whatever_.

But it was a sad sight to watch Alfred deflate like that. _God _he was _just _like Feliciano. So touchy. He averted his eyes and nudged the blonde back.

"Oi. I didn't mean it like that. How would I massage you anyway?" Alfred shrugged, still pouting. Lovino blew the hair out of his face and ruffled Alfred's hair. "Stop sulking. You look stupid."

"No." HuffHuff.

"Fine. Be a bastard. I don't care."


	3. Chapter 3: Life Goes On

**Chapter Three: Life Goes On**

"No! No No No NO!" He clawed at the arms around him. He hoped they'd bleed. For days. Then scar. He kicked and screamed and punched and bit to get himself free. "Get off of me dammit!"

It didn't work. Antonio had him locked in an iron grip as that scone-eating _bastard _took Alfred away. Not peacefully, like 'Oh there you are. Could I bother you to come home?' No. It was violent. Kirkland came with a net, donning a cloak, and drug him away. It should probably have been a concern to Lovino the noises coming from Alfred's chest; vicious hisses and growls and curses.

But he was doing the same thing. Squirming and kicking and pitching a royal fit.

Antonio had showed up, and there had been hope. Maybe his old boss would be on their side? _When did he end up as a 'they' with Alfred? _But he wasn't. He'd looked at Arthur, nodded, and trapped Lovino. Then he'd had to watch as Arthur took a boat with his net and caught Alfred. Watched him drag him away, half gasping for air -wouldn't he get light headed from all the oxygen?-, half trying to roll, only to snap a few of those glorious, dangerous, _beautiful _spines.

He cried out, and Lovino felt it in his chest.

"LOVI!"

* * *

><p>Contrast. There was such a <em>huge <em>contrast between the warm, bubbly contentment he'd had swimming around with his American. No one else knew where he was. No one else ate lunch with him -sushi and pasta. Alfredo was _his _little secret. His friend. Feliciano wasn't around to outshine him with that blinding(and blind) joy. The Potato Bastard wasn't around with his muscles, brains, and sexual frustration. Francis wasn't around with his toxic suave to leak out everywhere.

It had just been Lovino, a very grumpy, stressed Italian, and Alfred, an American that smiled too much and gave hugs that were just a little too comfortable. Hugs he _insisted _would make Lovino feel better.

They hadn't then, and they sure as Hell didn't now. The water was still hot when he first got in, but it got colder fast and it stayed that way without Alfred around to fluster him. Lovino hung his head over the edge of the dock and tried to ignore the way it shook with sobs he tried to bite back. Note the word, tried.

Why is it like this? Why does he _always _loose things he cares about? Feliciano. Nonno Roma. His first real friend in a while. Then Antonio betrayed him. Francis was no help. He didn't want to tell his fratello, he didn't want the Potato Bastard involved. Lovino was alone in this, and when he was completely _physically _alone, he'd accept that. He could never forgive Antonio for this. Kirkland was _still _the heartless motherfucker he'd always been in Lovino's eyes.

_He may never see Alfred outside of a museum tank -or at all- ever again._ Sobs gave way to rhythm-less gasping, and he forced himself to his feet. Life would go on. It always did.

Nightmares were fine after a few months.

* * *

><p>The shadowed silhouette of a thin body melted into the shadows cast from the table where he sat and the books piled to overtake his view, was not a rare thing. Romano spent many hours pretending to work at his desk. He usually had a tomato in one hand and a good book in the other, chewing and sweeping his eyes across the letters easily.<p>

Ah, those were the days.

Those moments were suave and chilled, his feet would rest atop the wood, his weight tipping his desk chair backwards idly, and a superior set to his jaw as he went about his days.

Now was different. He was still propped on the desk, still leaned back in the chair, still condescending in all that he did, but the books had changed radically. Novels about sea creatures, alchemy, and ye old magic filled his tabletop.

"Ve~ Fratelloooooo I'm home!" Lovino jerked at the sudden break in his silence. He toppled.

"Dammit!" Feliciano could be heard scuttling down the hall, and Lovino continued in his yelling, "Who ever told you it was okay to suddenly yell like that? What if I had been holding a knife? You would have killed me just now!"

Moments after regaining his footing properly, Lovino had his little brother leached to his side, sniffling out apologies. He wasn't listening.

"I'm sorry Lovino! Please don't die, I'd miss you too much!" Around all the sniffling and trying to keep Feli's nose(which was happily running towards his favorite shirt) from making contact with his person, he managed to drag the both of them to the kitchen. The kitchen is a pretty mutual place, with some pretty mutual rules.

One, it's a place of comfort and confidence. Arguments happen here and this is where you can find someone after those arguments. If someone is using to to make them feel better, stay out.

Two, it's not the living room. No more than four people at all times. Everyone else stands on the other side of the counter to talk.

Three, when someone's cooking, it's theirs. Enter at your own risk.

Four, when you're bored, go walk around in there.

Five, keep your ass off the counter, food goes there.

Which, if you own the kitchen, you're welcome to break these rules anytime. With a glance in the cabinet, Lovino fired up the stove and Feliciano went to fetch the pasta noodles.

"Why're you home, bastard?" His brother looked mildly concerned.

"It's been a month since I left, didn't you miss me?" Lovino paused, then sat the pot on the stove. _Really? _A whole month? How long had Alfred been there before- Lovino snapped the noodles into the pot a smidgen harder than necessary. A sneer curled at his lips.

"Of course I didn't miss you. I- I had a friend over."

Felicano promptly attached himself to his older half, occupying most of the others ability to move with his weight. Lovino felt his face warm a few degrees, why had he mentioned Alfred? He shook Feli off with a huff.

"Oh~ Fratello has a crush? On who? Tell meee."

"It's not a crush! I would never like that bastard!" Needless to say, his rantings were ignored on the part of his fratello, who was instead, guessing.

"Is it 'Tonio? He hangs around a lot..." Feliciano leaned against the counter and devoted himself to figuring this out, "Or maybe Gilbert? That would be a fun romance!"

Lovino flushed and shoved his brother.

"_Hell _no! I'm mad at those fuckers!" As much as he tried not to let it bother him, being reminded that they had stolen his friend had him seething again. Those _bastards_.

He stormed off, leaving Feliciano to cook for himself _by _himself, and shut himself up in his bedroom so he could kick the shit out of something and pretend it was Kirkland.


	4. Chapter 4: Filleted

**Chapter Four: Filleted**

_Deep breaths. You have to do this. For Italy. _Lovino set his shoulders higher and lifted his chin, then pushed the meeting doors open. Feliciano insisted he go to this one. Apparently, it is of concern when Lovino decides to not come out of his room for hours at a time. It's a bad thing when he can't quite shove the thoughts of being yanked around underwater, a graceless affair, but fun, and he might just shed a few tears.

Aren't all the best love stories supposed to be tragic?

This counts.

He stiffened when a familiar hand touched his back, cologne wafted into his senses, and he clenched his fists. _Spain_.

"Hola Lovi! Como es-"

He jerked violently away from the hand, glaring with all he had.

"Don't call me that!" He didn't care that Antonio was staring at him like he'd grown another head. He didn't care that _everyone _was staring at him. He didn't care that when Antonio went to hug him, he kept him at bay with a punch to the face. The bastard deserved it.

Alfred was dead. He'd been twisted out of nature and he'd run for help -he'd ran for Antonio in the first place, at least for sanctuary in his influence- but when he was found, 'Tonio had turned him over. He'd held _him _back so he couldn't help.

Arthur had taken Alfred back to England and tortured him to death.

Alfredo had died in pain on foreign soil.

_Oh yes. _Antonio deserved that bruise under his eye, and so _so _much more that would need to be delivered under the table. Feliciano was attached to him in seconds, fluttering between Antonio's injury and wiping angry tears from Lovino's face. Potato Bastard was there too, hovering behind Feliciano to restrain whoever need be, or carry them off.

Lovino would be _damned _if he was going to disgrace himself now. Antonio would do whatever he wanted, but he had every intention of going into his with his shoulders up.

He'd had to do this when Nonno had disappeared. He could do it again. After he turned his back on the small gathering of concerned -nosy- countries and sat himself down, the room erupted into gossiping conversations, asking if it had been caught on tape, paying money on bets, and giggling over what everyone assumed was a regular Lover's Quarrel.

"Whoa! Whoooa! Dudes, what's the drama?" The room didn't get any quieter when Alfred shoved both doors open and yelled into the crowd. Lovino couldn't see him past the people, and he couldn't hear what he was saying over the chattering, but it was just the same. He couldn't move. Alfred was alive. _Alive. _

Two eyes -held wider than their usual narrow glare- swept frantically back and forth over the crowd, waiting for the scene to shift and that stupid, _stupid, ugly _curl to pop out of the bodies. He saw his fratello bouncing around, Potato Bastard on his heels. The tail of one stray cat could be seen twisting above Greece, even that bastard that took Alfredo away in the first place had his time in Lovino's line of sight.

Alfred was no where and everywhere at once. No where in sight, but everywhere zipping around the Italian's head: the weird gurgling of his laughter under the surface, the twists and turns he could make with a tail that made Lovino's skin crawl, ever-present barbs that haunted his mind, even the excited chatter -although annoying and somewhat nasal when too much saltwater got in that crooked nose- was welcome against the hushed lull of the surf. So consumed in his internal war -if he should shove through the crowd and drag Alfred back home where he was safe, or keep some pride, uphold his nation and wait for that bastard to find _him_- that he barely noted the fingers on his shoulders.

"I missed you too, Lovi." There was time for the man behind his chair to snicker before he was on his feet, Alfred's collar gripped between whitened knuckles. The first few lines spouted out of his mouth were insults that didn't take thought to roll off his tongue. Oh, the vengeance of an angry Sicilian.

"You ass! Bastard! Where the _fuck_ where you? Why didn't you come back, or at least send word that you weren't strung up by your gills and _filleted_! You-" He was cut off by a set of fingers laid over his mouth. He bite them.

"Ow! Lovino!" Alfred jerked his hand back, but bent down to whisper in the other's ear, "No one but you, me, Artie, Antoni-" This time, Lovino was the one that clapped his hand over Alfred's mouth.

"_Spain_. Don't call that bastard by his name. He's no more human than England is for doing that to you." Al nodded and pried Lovino's hand away carefully.

"Fair enough. Thank Francis though, he helped figure it all out and snapped Ar-_England _back to his senses." He patted a set of nervous fingers for a second, willing them to uncurl and Lovi's shoulders to relax. He couldn't keep the grin off his face, "It's sweet that you care though."

"You're a bastard if you think I'm heartless enough _not _to be upset by that." True, he was fighting tears now, and you could see the shaking sobs rise, but Lovino was used to biting them down. Just start with what you know. Alfred was taken. Alfred popped back up. Alfred's alive. He felt himself walking after the blonde as he made his way to the podium. Alfred is _alive_. He was starting up the steps when Feliciano took hold of him.

"Fratello, it's not your turn." He shook him off and took a stand beside the American anyway.

"I _know_that, idiot. I'm not going anywhere." He snapped over his shoulder, then yanked Alfred's jacket to get his attention. He got it, and Alfredo leaned down again, eyebrows raised curiously, "and neither are you. I've already lost you once."

In return for this demand, he was given a smile and a promise to stick like glue. Which was kept. During both of their speeches, during break, and Lovino even insisted on standing beside Alfred's chair. Causing his friend high levels of duress. In the end -with some squawking that was majorly ignored- Lovi was settled in Alfred's lap under the assumption that if he didn't, Al would make him sit in his seat again. He might even cry.

Lovino almost slapped him for that.

_However_, it was... nice to see Alfredo smiling again, laughing, talking, gesturing wildly about extravagant plans for the world, babbling about missing pasta and _still _blowing saltwater out his nose. No more nightmares of hooks, nets, and barbs snapped in half. No more waking up yelling, soaked with sweat and tear-stained because he couldn't do anything -even in the realm of his dreams. Just another failure to add to his list...

But Alfredo was alive and well and content to fluster Lovino until his face melts off or he lashes out - usually both. He's annoying. A pain in the ass. A horrid company to keep if you have an IQ over 70, but after all that, a pest Alfred is better than a dead Alfred.


	5. Chapter 5: Land Legs

**Chapter Five: Land Legs**

A week went by, then a month, and then several of both before the Southern half of Italy was content to let his favorite -by default, because there's only one, certainly not because he favors him- Superpower go a night without a long-distance call to make sure the American bastard is still kicking.

Aside from keeping Alfred legged, maintaining his company had become a personal goal of Lovino's: Get your stupid work done, turn it in to your idiot of a boss, bitch at Antonio when he stops by to make peace -it'll be _years _before he's forgiven, start dinner, call Alfred and chat with him the rest of the night until sleep beckons you.

No more nightmares.

Lovino dialed the number -memorized by now- and held the phone with his shoulder until he was connected, "Oi, Alfredo. You alive?"

"I survived today, Lovi. You gone crazy without me yet?" This banter was usual -not flirting, like Feli insisted on calling it, just harmless fun- in their conversations. A merciless tearing down and building back up that kept them both just the perfect amount of bored and entertained.

"Oh _please _idiot, I don't need, or want you."

There was a pause, probably because the blonde on the other end faked a hurt expression and gasped a little, "You mean if I bothered flying over, fighting jet-lag to be on time, and showing up at your door with roses, you'd cast me into the streets?"'

"Like a mangy cat."

"Italians are cruel lovers."

"Only the Southern ones." A smirk crept over Lovino's face to replace his scowl. Heritage is one of the few things he has to pride himself in, and his temper.

"Hey guess what, Lovi?"

"What, idiot?" Alfred didn't say anything, but instead stayed silent long enough to make Lovino stop and listen. Something smacked itself solidly on his front door a few times. Knuckles. _No one ever knocks around here, except maybe... _Mother of _God_... He glared sideways at the phone now held to his ear by his hand, "You didn't..."

"I may have~."

The dial tone started up, and Alfred had just shoved the phone back in his pocket, fixing his shirt and plastering a smile on his face -one he thought Lovino might like better, without his teeth showing, when the front door swung back and the one and only South Italy was leaned against the frame, red sleeves rolled up, one lean leg crossed loosely around the other, and something between a smirk and a glare burning down at the American.

Alfred grinned widely -okay so they plan didn't work so well, but how are you supposed to stop smiling at one of your best friends?-, and the lovely little smirk disappeared, replaced by a crooked frown and the sudden rush of blood to a pair of Italian cheeks and ears, "Well come on in, idiot. People will assume things."

Alfred wasted no time in getting inside and hovering in the kitchen. Right in the way, much to Lovino's annoyance.

"What are you doing? You're in the way, idiot!" Alfred felt himself being pushed on, and moved with the motion -all the way out of the kitchen. "Stay out there until I'm done." With a huff, he watched Lovino stomp back to his stove. This would not do.

It took a few minutes of his whining to get him back in the kitchen at all, and he even pushed his luck and found a seat _on _the unused space of the counter. Now, we all know Alfred F. Jones isn't much for detail, but something he just can't _help _but see, is Lovino.

Well, less of _him_ and more so what he _does_, because it's never the same thing. And it's never what Alfred expects. He's zoned out quietly on the counter while Lovino works, and every now and again Lovi will spare him a glance, only to see him deep in thought, staring a whole into the tiled kitchen floor. Whatever, as long as he's quiet.

Alfred never really expected companionship from Lovino Vargas, he'd only ever hoped that he wouldn't turn him in, back when he had a fish tail and fins, but what he wound up getting from that voyage was a really good friend. He had really liked swimming around with Lovi, and it was nice -if not entirely new to him- to have someone call him _daily _to check on him. "_Are you sure your door is locked, Bastard?" "So, if a murderer came around and decided to kill you, you _do _have a gun on you? Can you shoot it?"_

"_Chigi. You still have legs, right Alfred?" "Ciao, Alfredo." _A smile played out on Alfred's face.

Lovino, who wasn't friendly. Who cried maybe a little too easily and gave up maybe a smidgen too quickly. Who was always frowning, except times like now, when anyone watching would swear he was _dancing_ around the kitchen as he cooked something orgasmic. If you imagined an Italian, you _might _get something like Lovino, but Lovi is a whole different brand. If you never heard him speak, or watched him cry, you would easily find a type of natural attraction to him and all he is. The way his hair falls, the smooth curve of his back, the shade of those perfectly golden-green eyes.

The guy was _gorgeous. _

But most people don't like him, because he's loud, because he cries, because he complains, and usually because he doesn't like you and won't trust you. It's a fact, that in the world surrounding nations, Lovino isn't very charming -he's usually too paranoid to work up any confidence. But, a lesser known fact, that apart from the traits he shares with Feliciano, he's much more down to Earth. A realist, in the shadow of his brother, and constantly fretting about things Feliciano can't comprehend, turning them over and churning them up in the silence of his mind. With this sensibility, Alfred has found that he makes for a pretty good conversation.

He's not that bad.

It might be the self-inflicted hero label, but Alfred has come to enjoy the company of his snappy little Italian. He snickered to himself about that. Lately, it's been a source of entertainment for his to call Lovi 'his' to himself. It's a nice thought, to have a friend he wouldn't have to share with anyone else, because maybe, just _maybe _he would be the only one they want.

Like he said, a nice thought.

"Oi, what are you over there laughing at?" Lovino kicked the bottom of his foot, jerking him out of his thoughts. "'Ey! Idiota. Answer me."

"Sorry Lovi," he shook his head and leaned his elbows on his thighs, "What'd you say?"

"I asked what was so funny, you were over there laughing."

"I was just thinking." He shrugged, and got another kick -harder this time- to his foot.

"That's really helpful, American Bastard." He rolled his eyes, still chopping the next ingredient.

Al slid off the counter, and walked around to lean on the island counter across from Lovino. He watched as Lovi's face turned red and he grinned.

"I was thinking about you."

What? _WHAT? _Lovi jerked his head up, hands stopping so he wouldn't cut himself -it wasn't like his fingers could do anything but fumble right now anyway. Okay, so maybe looking up wasn't that smart, at least, not with Alfredo's face _right there_, all smiles and shits and giggles about that little sliver of information.

"C-Chigi! What the Hell? You idiot!" He took this moment of flustered anger, complete with wild gestures of his hands -still holding a knife in one- and glaring into the brightest smile on Earth- to collect himself and put his pride back in his chest where it should be. He'd need it. "You don't just tell people that! You have to at least lead up to that kind of thing! With some kind of compliment or a greeting or at least _something _before-"

"I like your eyes."

"WHAT THE HELL?" The fury was unexpected, and had Alfred desperately backpedaling.

"Hey, hey! You said I need to compliment you, right? I did!" He was leaned carefully over the counter as he rambled this explanation, trying to grab the wrist that held the knife. That is seriously unsafe. "Stop waving sharp blades for a sec."

"Shut up." Red-faced and spastic as he was, the blade was put down, "Now what the Hell were you saying?"

"I was about to _say_," he paused, earning himself a scowl and the motion to Get The Fuck On With It, "that I was just thinking about you, yanno, since I'm over and you're the only interesting thing around, and that I like your eyes." He smiled, "They're pretty."

Lovino deadpanned at him, "I'm not pretty, dipshit. I'm handsome." He picked the knife back up and went back to work, avoiding eye contact and choosing instead to watch the onion he was dicing.

"Okay fine, you have handsome eyes." Alfred grinned, back to himself already, and leaned more comfortably on the counter. He rolled his eyes at the look he got.

"Who the Hell has handsome eyes!"

"You'd smack me if I said you, right?"

"Damn right I would." Vegetables were scooped up and dumped into a saucepan. Alfred found it hard not to smirk at the domestic element of it all. In fact, he snorted about it.

Lovino's eyebrows lifted into his bangs and he stared in bemusement.

"What the _fuck _was that, Alfredo?" A smirk fought it's way to the corners of his mouth, and Alfred's face lit up like Christmas.

"Shut up." His own lips stretched upon their own good nature and he slid from his seat, taking a place at Lovino's side in front of the food. "Here," He pretended to roll his sleeves up, "give me something to do." Lovino watched him for a moment before giving him the job of dicing rosemary.

* * *

><p>"Hey, get your ass of my food surface." Lovino brandished the wooden spoon he'd dedicated to the crème of whatever. To no effect, Alfred was entirely undeterred from the perch he'd taken when the main dish had went in the oven.<p>

Rule Five of the Kitchen: Keep your ass off the counter, food goes there.

"Oi," He kicked the American a third time today, grabbing his attention, "_off._"

From the look of that smirk, it would not be made as easy task to remove a bum from his counter top. Lovino set himself to the same, easy frown he always wore. Alfred, set his phasers to bright, and proceeded to light up a challenge.

"Make me."

The spark in his eye was cruel, mocking, and maybe just a little bit excited as he watched Lovino put the spoon down and glide his way over. It wasn't far and he ended up pretty close -as close as he'd been the many times they were swimming or at the meeting after he got his legs back. What he hadn't expected, was Lovi yanking him down by the collar of his Deadpool shirt, smirking like that.

That _had _to be illegal.

And hot _damn _if it wasn't hard to ignore. His stomach took to twisting and -whether he was aware of it or not- the lids of his eyes lowered to half-mast. Blue churned behind glass -Lovino can see it now- and set to picking him apart, piece by piece. It runs down his spine and electrifies down to his fingertips. Those fingers move on their own accord away from his person, unnoticed by any -otherwise occupied- Southern Italians.

"Get the fuck off my counter, Alfred."

Situation intact, Al manged a roll of his eyes as his fingers took their role in the challenge, caught Lovino's jaw, locking it in place by nothing more than the electricity of sensation, and he crossed the impregnable boundary into something he was probably liking a _little _too much. Long for a peck, quick for a kiss, just long enough to get it across that...

That what? That he -the Hero- had called out _one _name in desperation, not even sure what he wanted to say. Maybe 'I love you' or 'Don't cry for me', but whatever. What did it mean that he'd been more worried about getting back to Lovino than getting back to the sea that day? Maybe he just wanted to feel the spark ark between himself and this man he would do anything for. Lovi? Do you want the moon? I can get that shit. He tried to focus, he really did, but his mind was scrambled as it started to clear, and the butterflies were turning to bats pretty quick. He hadn't been thinking. Lovi had been playing around. He has just kissed him and-

"You're still on the fucking counter, get _off_." Alfred was tugged from his seat by the collar of his shirt, tipping him off balance and -admittedly- he almost made quick friends with the floor. Lovi snickered from where he was standing, back to stirring the sauce.

"Still haven't found your land legs, Alfredo?"

"Shut up, Lovi."

A smirk.

"Make me."

-line-

**A/N: **_**Mr. Thesaurus, you are a dear friend of mine. CoffeeFlavoredFate, I blame(and thank) you entirely for the downhill snowball into oblivion my newest ship has taken me on. **_

_**I've had this stewing for months. I wrote it all before I let anyone but my best friend see. Please let this be well-liked. **_


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